Stars Fall, We Rise
by XxxLil'MunchkinxxX
Summary: His gaze was wild and free, his fiery locks were untamed and frantic, and he was staring straight at her. He ignored Jon for the moment and took in her tall frame. Now that was a woman, he thought to himself. She had to be his height with eyes as harsh as Northern snow and was far prettier than the man she stood beside. Instantly, Tormund was hooked.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Warning — there will be swearing, murder, rape etc... this is Game of Thrones after all. Also, this is based on the TV Show but I am aware that House Dayne is more prominent in the books but there will be many major differences between my portrayal of them and George R R Martins, for obvious reasons. Disclaimer — I own nothing bar Deandra, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this. This is also on Quotev and Wattpad under the same name but my accounts are Jessamine and LilMunckin01 respectively.**

 **The start is a tad slow and there will be time jumps but it should be simple to keep up**

 **DEANDRA — pronounced dee-an-druh, means divine protector**

 **PROLOGUE**

* * *

Until her relocation to Winterfell, Deandra had never been called a Stark. Sure, she'd always known her parentage and by what name she should have been known by but many nobles in Starfall had refused to acknowledge such facts out loud. From her birth (most likely) and after the death of both her mother and uncle (most certainly), Deandra was a Dayne and nothing else, at least to the Lords and Ladies of House Dayne who had known Arthur and Ashara. Many blamed Eddard Stark for the death of Arthur — fair enough — and for Ashara's suicide when her daughter was only a babe.

While growing up around such animosity had made her weary of the Warden of the North, Deandra held no hate for him and she doubted she could — at least not until she met the man. Yes, he had killed her uncle but death was a consequence of war and the former Sword of the Morning had known what he was getting into. She definitely did not blame him for her mother's demise. If anything, Deandra was a little bitter toward her mother for being selfish enough to take her own life. She tried not to judge too harshly, she wasn't in any position to do so as she had never known the woman — and that was the crux of it all. Deandra had never known the people she was so supposed to miss so she couldn't miss them and she had yet to meet the people she was supposed to hate so she couldn't hate them.

Some days she would wonder what her mother was like, if she would sing her lullabies and give her advice and other days she would wonder if her uncle had been as good as the legends depicted and what her life would have been like had he won his fight. This daydreaming often made her feel a tad lonely but she couldn't miss what she'd never had in the first place.

She had never known her father either. Brandon Stark had been dead for even longer than her mother yet she found herself more interested in him. Perhaps it was due to what little she knew about him — the people of Starfall had no qualms about droning on and on about beautiful Ashara but no one ever mentioned Brandon. Deandra also found herself wondering about their romance. Their marriage had been a secret, this she knew. They had met at Harrenhal and married soon after with Arthur and Lyanna Stark, Brandon's deceased younger sister, as witnesses. Had their wedding been out of love or a whirlwind of lust that resulted in Ashara's unexpected pregnancy? Neither of her parents were known for being the most celibate of people.

Another reason for her curiosity was probably all the traits she shared with her father — only deducing this after learning that they could not have come from her mother. Her height was something she certainly did not share with Ashara. While not all Northmen were giants, Deandra happily learned that her father had been a particularly tall man and had he been alive today, his height would have been likened to that of the Clegane's at a push. She wasn't astoundingly tall or bulky like the Clegane siblings but she was taller than all girls her age that she'd met, and most of the boys too, though apparently boys tended to grow taller later on.

Her features, while feminine and entirely desirable, allowed her Northern heritage to shine through with a strong nose and jawline, sharp cheekbones and a steely gaze. In fact, once she reached Winterfell, her beauty had been compared to that of her aunt Lyanna. Her most prominent connection to her Dornish roots were her vivid eyes, the famed dark blue, essentially purple colour, of House Dayne. Even the lilac of House Targaryen paled in comparison.

These small clues and traits allowed Deandra to create an image of her father and yet she still longed to learn more. Why should she know everything about her mother, from her favourite colour to her favourite wine, but nothing about her other parent? All she really knew for certain about Brandon was the cruel and gruesome way he had died and his moniker, the Wild Wolf.

It was at age nine that Deandra's curiosity would be fed as she was sent to Winterfell to stay with her uncle and cousins. As it turned out, not everyone in Starfall were as delighted as she was with her Northern spirit and nature. She wouldn't say she was despised but she could safely say that she had no friends and she was quite the handful, which did make her unpopular.

It would be seven years before she saw Starfall again, arguably the most impressive castle in existence, and even then she would only be there long enough to leave once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

Upon meeting her father's family, Deandra was surprised. Her uncle was nothing like how some of House Dayne described him — that didn't surprise her — but it was a shame that he was no Wild Wolf like his elder brother. He was kind and honourable, attributes she appreciated even at a young age, yet she had hoped for someone more boisterous. Deandra couldn't fault him, however. Robert's Rebellion and the murder of his brother and father and later, sister, had forced him to grow up and had put a weight on his shoulders. More recently, the Greyjoy Rebellion had only served to age him further and now that he had returned to Winterfell, there were his five children and his new ward to care for. Funnily enough, it was his height that most let her down. She had hoped that he would be as huge as she'd imagined her father to be. Eddard was by no means short; he was tall and broad but he wasn't the biggest man Deandra had seen. He still cut an imposing figure, though.

Her cousins were a mix of disappointing and everything she had ever wanted. The eldest, Robb, was downright adorable. He had dark auburn curls and bright eyes and was the sweetest boy she had ever met, and Deandra would continue to claim this for the rest of her life. Robb was much like his father and eager to follow in his footsteps with a keen sense of morality even at his young age, although he was far happier and more chirpy than Eddard. In all honesty, it was the bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow, that reminded her of her uncle. Jon was quiet and often brooding in a way no child of a mere seven summer's should. He was kind and polite and had he not been a bastard, Deandra imagined he would have made a good Lord.

The next child was a girl. Even at age four Sansa was the epitome of a Lady. The pretty red-head liked singing and sewing and shiny things with a slightly bratty and entitled attitude already. This didn't mean that Deandra didn't care for her cousin but she much preferred the other Stark girl — although she was glad that Sansa had inherited the Northern height, though Deandra was taller at her age.

Arya was only two summer's old and was a scoundrel. She liked to be messy and loud and always wanted to fight. Deandra adored her and couldn't wait until she was big enough, or at least old enough as Arya seemed to be quite short already, to train and spar with. Catelyn Stark would undoubtedly disapprove but Deandra wouldn't let that get in the way.

The latest Stark child was little Bran. Bran had big brown eyes that Deandra, admittedly, liked to coo over. He was such a cute babe and she couldn't resist. The Dayne almost wished for Catelyn and Eddard to have another child that she could coo even more at.

The latest addition to the Stark household was Theon Greyjoy, the new ward from the Iron Islands. Deandra wasn't stupid, she knew that he had been given the label of a ward to overlook the fact that he was essentially kidnapped, but she thought that Theon should be grateful. From what she had read both at Starfall and with Maester Luwin, the Greyjoy's weren't the kindest of people and Theon would probably receive better care in the North.

The young Kraken most likely didn't see that yet and had been distant from everyone. He had finally begun to strike up a bond with Robb, the two being of the same age, and Deandra was amused to see a rivalry of sort forming between him and Jon. Both boys were almost fighting for Robb's affection and it was rather funny.

Catelyn didn't find it as amusing. The eldest daughter of Hoster Tully did nothing to hide her dislike of Jon and while Deandra was irritated by the hostility, she couldn't blame her. Catelyn tried so hard to be kind to her, despite knowing that Deandra's father had been promised to her when the girl was born. Jon's presence was a further humiliation and Deandra felt like Catelyn had been extra harsh when she first arrived, but it could have been much worse for the bastard. Most children born out of wedlock weren't treated with such kindness and he could have easily been abandoned by his father yet, instead, he was brought up alongside his half-siblings and taught the same things.

Catelyn's effort and politeness eventually grew to become genuine care and a few moons later when Deandra's tenth name-day arrived, she felt welcome. Her uncle and aunt — "call me Cat" — decided to throw her a feast and she couldn't choose between being touched or upset. The feast had been wonderful, the castle alive in merriment and the scent of her favourite foods invading the halls, but Deandra found herself outside and alone in the dark.

She sat despondently at the trunk of the Weirwood tree in the Godswood. Deandra didn't believe in the Old Gods and despite being brought up to believe in the Seven, she wasn't sure if she cared much for them either. Nonetheless, the Godswood was probably her preferred place to be.

The Godswood was beyond stunning. The tree, albeit a tad freaky, was fascinating and the place itself was dark and almost primal and she could taste the moist earth and feel the spiritual air thrumming through her veins.

"What are you doing out here?"

Deandra jumped slightly at the voice that so suddenly joined her and broke her thoughts. She shrugged quietly, her actions surprisingly meek, and glanced up at the sky. It was encrusted with stars and for a brief moment it was as though she was back in Dorne. The stars always shined so brightly at Starfall, the moon burning a silver no blade could ever hope to replicate — except for maybe Dawn.

It was the smell of rain and the cool susurration of the wind that reminded her where she really was. Her grip tightened around her furs at the chill. It had taken some time to adjust to the harsh Northern climate when Dorne was so hot and sunny. The weather was among the many things she didn't miss while the night's sky was one of the few she did.

"Dea, what's troubling you?"

Deandra's lips curled at the term of endearment. It wasn't her usually wide and almost wild grin but it was certainly better than a worried frown. "I've never had a name-day celebration like this." She admitted. Her accent was smoother and sharper than any Northerners' and marked her out as an educated Southerner. "Thank you...Uncle Ned."

Ned smiled softly and his entire face melted gently in an instant. He looked much less tired when he smiled. "There is no need, you're family."

Deandra's lips dropped and her jaw clenched. That was what had been troubling her. "You killed my uncle, Arthur, and some say you caused my mother's death as well."

Ned's face wasn't gentle anymore. "Aye."

"I may only be ten summer's old but I've always felt like there was an impossible choice — Stark or Dayne. Before I came here I'd never even been called a Stark but I knew that some of them thought that was all I was. They thought I was too big, too noisy, too Northern. Others thought that I was only a Dayne and tried to make me think that too. Part of me was sure I'd hate you when we met."

"And?"

"And I was wrong." She sighed grudgingly. Even in a situation like this, it did wound her pride to a admit she was wrong or to apologise. "I love you more than I've loved anyone else. You're the father I never had." Her words were sincere but they weren't soft. She spoke them matter-of-fact and almost challengingly, daring her uncle to say otherwise.

Ned didn't argue and took her hands in his. Deandra gazed at his scarred knuckles, feeling the callouses that decorated his firm palms. They were the hands of a soldier, a warrior, yet they held hers with such warmth it ached. "I regret that I had to kill your uncle, I wish everyday that I didn't have to, and your mother's death will haunt me to the day I die. I see so much of them in you all the time. You have your mother's way with words and quick tongue with your uncle's swordsmanship." His grip was stronger, more urgent now. "They would be so proud of you, never doubt that you are a Dayne but you must never deny that you are a Stark. You truly are Brandon's daughter, and I know that he would be proud of you too. You've got his height — he always wanted a tall child — and sadly for your Septa, you've inherited his recklessness." He stared at her seriously. "He's a part of you just as he's a part of me, though I must say that you are more of the Wild Wolf he was." Deandra's eyes were wide and practically glowing. "You don't have to choose, you are a Dayne of Starfall and you are a Stark of Winterfell."

There was a beat of silence before Deandra lunged almost angrily at her uncle, wrapping her arms around him in the most heartfelt hug she could muster. When she pulled her head back to grin proudly at him, still in his embrace, he expected her to say something equally witty and poignant. What she actually said was, "Do you really think I have Arthur's sword skills?"

Ned just chuckled deeply.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Who Cares711: I agree completely. Tormund is such a great character, definitely one of my favourites, and there aren't enough stories about him. I hope this story lives up to your excitement.**_

 **CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

 **SIX YEARS LATER...**

Tall, wild and beautiful, Deandra was famed all over the Seven Kingdoms and feared and envied across the North.

Her playful and untamed nature had earned her the same moniker her father had and she was delighted to be known as the Wild Wolf. Her uncle Ned wasn't particularly pleased, he believed it was the Wolf Blood that had got two of his siblings killed and he worried what that would mean for his niece. The name made many weary, and with good reason.

Her beauty appeared to contradict her fierce personality and that was just the way she liked it. It made her seem innocent and kind and so her actions would be unpredictable, to those who didn't know her at least. She was often likened to that of her aunt Lyanna in both looks and spirit, a woman whose beauty caused a war and thousands of deaths — including her own.

Deandra thankfully didn't have her aunt's dainty height. Her willowy stature was something she had always been proud of and at six and ten she stood only a fraction shorter than Eddard. It always amused her that she could look down upon the men in her family, Robb and Jon didn't like being called short, although she learned that many men were intimidated by her figure.

One man in particular remained undaunted by her height and actually rather liked being able to look directly into her eyes without casting his own downwards.

Jory Cassel was a loyal man and each time he so much as looked at her, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Deandra was the niece of one of his closest friends and his liege Lord yet he was drawn to her. He was drawn to her as if she were the brightest flame and it would have taken everything and more to resist her call.

Deandra had always been fond of Jory, ever since the age of one and ten. She found his shoulder length auburn hair to be uncontrollably attractive and his deep, brown eyes unfairly swoon worthy. Of course she knew that he was over twice her age but another part of her mind reminded her that many ladies would be married off to men like that. It was at the age of five and ten that, that side of her won out.

Now a year and countless kisses and roaming hands later, Deandra found herself pressed against a tree with Jory's lips on hers. As they broke apart their foreheads pressed gently together, the two attempting to regain their breath.

"Do you have to leave?"

Deandra smiled at the sadness in her almost-lover's tone. It was nice to know she would be missed. "I have to go to Starfall." She replied simply. "I'm not only a Stark."

Jory's calloused hands brushed her cheek tenderly and he pressed one more quick kiss to her plump lips. "I know."

Deandra watched him as he walked away from her. Her purple gaze dropped to his behind, a small smirk tugging at her mouth. "Come by my room later." She didn't raise her voice, knowing that he would hear her, and not wanting anyone else that may be lurking about to eavesdrop.

Jory glanced over a muscular shoulder, his locks swinging. "Of course, my lady." He answered smoothly before disappearing from her line of view.

* * *

It was odd, Deandra mused later that night, knowing that this would be her last night in Winterfell for a few years — if her plan worked out. She had grown to love the castle and its people. They were kind and honourable but stern and fierce, a refreshing change from the schemers down south.

She glanced down to see Arya and little Bran now at her sides. While Jon and Robb were probably her closest cousins, she would always adore, and maybe secretly prefer, the two clinging to her waist.

"You can't leave!" Arya cried. As a child of eight summer's, she couldn't remember a time when Deandra hadn't been in her life and she didn't want that to change. The tall woman was the one who had first encouraged Arya's wish to be a knight and a fighter and had actually provided the girl with her very own bow — Arya's most treasured possession.

"You can't!" Bran reinforced, tears sparkling in his dark eyes. Bran had always been a soft and sweet boy with a thirst for adventure and it hurt to see him upset. Deandra was the only one to join him when climbing and had saved him from falling too many times to count. Bran saw her almost as a partner-in-crime who would also sing to him and tell him scary stories. She was easily a better big sister than Sansa.

"It won't be forever." She soothed. Arya and Bran were lucky enough to see her kind half. It wasn't often she let it show — she was a southerner too and genuine kindness was a rarity. She much preferred being witty and rude. "I'll write and tell you of all the stupid things I do and I'll bring you both back a present."

"Promise?" By the Gods, Deandra had thought that she had perfected guilt tripping someone but with their big brown and grey eyes, it turned out that these cousins of hers may have been better. They would grow up to be heartbreakers. Bran was always a good looking lad but Arya's beauty was too often dismissed for Sansa's. Deandra admitted that Sansa would be a beautiful Lady but it was Arya that inherited the same genes as her and Lyanna. The three had the same colour hair and a similar facial structure, though Arya's resemblance was arguably stronger, and based off such things, Arya would be beautiful — or at least pretty.

"I promise." It would be difficult, incredibly difficult to do so, but Deandra intended to keep her promise. Promises and oaths were something the Starks did not take lightly. Deandra's opinion of them was a little more moderate. She understood the weight of a promise and she believed that once you promised something that you should do it, but she knew that not everyone else did. Promises were a debt and the liability to pay it back depended on a person's morals. Sadly, morals were lacking amongst the population and the concept of a true promise was practically foreign. "Now off to bed — where you should be."" Deandra ordered in an attempt to be stern. It backfired by the grin on her lips as the two took off running through the halls.

The grin was still settled snugly on her lips as she entered her own room. In fact, it grew at the sight she was presented with. "What if someone else had come in?" She asked.

Jory smiled softly at her, the few lines on his face fading. He was a handsome man and any woman would be lucky to have him. "Then I would say that I was returning my Lady's hair pin."

Deandra's hand automatically jumped to her hair where she discovered that she was actually missing a pin. "You prick."

Jory laughed quietly before it died out suddenly. He was silent as he watched Deandra lock her door and remove her furs. Her dress today was exquisite. It was rather revealing for a Northern woman but she wore it well, the almost verdant fabric caging her lithe frame in a sensual caress of silk with the valley of her round breasts exposed and slivers of her porcelain skin taunting wandering eyes.

"It's my last night in Winterfell." Were her words as she sauntered closer to him. Each step was tantalising and Jory could feel his ability to breath escaping him. He couldn't do anything as she stopped with only a measly foot between them as she placed her hands delicately on his chest. "I don't want to leave as a little girl."

Jory forced himself to step back. "I've already taken so much, I can't do that." He wanted to and he would have if she had continued to stare at him with those compelling eyes of hers. They had yet to lay together as man and woman but it would be a lie to say that he hadn't thought about it.

"I won't be back for years." Deandra reminded him. "I doubt I'll stay a little girl once I reach Dorne." While it was a bit mean to manipulate him like that, she was being truthful. Dorne was a lot more liberal than any other of the kingdoms and Deandra had a waited a long time for Jory, she wasn't sure how much longer she was willing to wait. She had no plans to marry some Lord, if she was to marry at all she hoped it would be for love, but right now she just wanted to lose the last touch of her innocence with her first love.

Jory wasn't her endgame, Deandra knew that. She loved Jory in a way she would never love anyone again, he was her first kiss and hopefully her first lover, but she wasn't childish enough to believe they could last. Oddly enough, the prospect wasn't as harrowing as she'd have thought it might be. She was quite content knowing that she still had the whole world to discover and plenty of men, and women, to taste.

She closed the distance between them once more. "Jory..." her hands cupped his cheeks, "I want you to make love to me. I understand that you're worried or guilty but we can't choose who we fall in love with. We can choose what we do with our love and if you're lucky enough to have the one you love in your arms, how stupid would you be to reject their advances?"

Jory was wide eyed as he gazed at her, his pupils blown and his vision slightly dazed before his lips crashed onto hers with a fervour she had never experienced.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Bookcrazyisme: Well, lucky for you the wait for this chapter wasn't very long. Thank you for reading and reviewing.**_

 _ **And thanks to everyone who reads this and favourites and/or follows.**_

 **CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

With the sun spilling through the window uninvited, Deandra awoke to a soreness at the apex of her thighs, a smug feeling in her chest and a cup of moon tea sitting pointedly on her vanity.

After listening to the chirping birds for a brief moment, she forced herself up. Last night had been wonderful and not nearly as painful as she'd anticipated. Jory was gentle and loving but Deandra knew that it would probably be the only time they lay together, even when she returned. Despite his sweet words in the midst of their love-making, once they had finished, the captain of the guard could hardly look at her while changing her bed sheets. He had left hurriedly, like an ashamed boy, murmuring about fetching her the moon tea.

She dressed herself slowly. Today she had no need for handmaidens and gladly pulled on a pair of men's breeches and a shirt Sansa had sewn for her a few moons ago. The shirt was distinctly feminine and Deandra was amused by her cousin's delicate touches and more amused by how tight of a fit the trousers were. They were no doubt taken from Robb which meant they were too short but she wouldn't complain, her boots would make up for Robb's lack of height. Not to mention they were woollen and warm and reminded her of home, even if she hadn't left yet.

She grabbed her cloak and headed to the Great Hall to find her family and Theon and break her fast. Her journey was definitely her slowest as she took in every brick in every wall. Everything had already been prepared for her departure and while she was excited, her stomach twisted nervously. Thankfully, or not so thankfully, she bumped into Jon.

Jon was a handsome boy of four and ten with dark curls and dark eyes. He was often quiet and brooding which could make for depressing company but Deandra loved him all the same. He, out of all the Starks, most resembled her uncle, primarily in personality but also in looks. Jon's face was too often solemn and Deandra felt delighted when she could make the boy smile. "S-sorry." Jon stuttered, a light blush on his pale cheeks.

Deandra just ruffled his hair happily. "Don't worry, Jon. It was only an accident. Speaking of accidents, have you seen Theon anywhere?"

While Jon was amused at her insult, his lips pursed at the Greyjoy's name. "Why do you want to see Theon?"

Deandra raised an eyebrow at how bitter he sounded. It was no secret that the two bickered but they didn't hate one another as far as she was aware. "I don't want to see Theon, no one really does, but I let him take Caraxes out yesterday."

Jon's expression brightened instantaneously. Both at another insult toward Theon and at the mention of Deandra's beloved horse. Caraxes had been her stallion since she was a young girl and he had travelled all the way from Dorne to Winterfell with her and now would be making the return trip. He was a large animal, fitting for his rider, and had been named after Daemon Targaryen's formidable dragon.

Deandra had always been eager to read and learn and dragons were one of many subjects that demanded her attention and the story of Caraxes had retained it. She would never forget learning about it.

Atop Caraxes in the civil war, Daemon challenged Aemond Targaryen and Vhagar at Harrenhal where all four were killed in the ensuing battle. At the end of the fight, Vhagar locked with Caraxes and they fell into the Gods Eye. While in freefall, even as Vhagar's claws opened up Caraxes' belly and used her teeth to tear off one of his wing-arms, Caraxes locked his teeth onto the larger dragon's throat and tore it out. Vhagar did not survive the force of the fall yet, somehow, Caraxes managed to live long enough to pull himself out of the water and onto the shore, even though his entrails were falling out and one of his arms had been torn clean off. The dragon soon died in front of the walls of Harrenhal.

It had been a tale that haunted her dreams and thoughts and inspired her beyond belief. It taught her that fighting wasn't all about size or strength. Even if she was a tall and strong woman, there would always been men that were taller and stronger — she would just have to be better.

Long story short, after being presented with her horse at age seven, she had taken one look the almost red coloured hair and named him Caraxes.

"I'll miss riding him." Jon said sadly. Caraxes was the fastest horse they had ever seen and as a result of quite a lot of pleading and begging, Deandra allowed her cousins, and occasionally Theon, to ride the fiery steed.

"Gods." Deandra huffed at his forlorn expression. "You Starks, all so moping."

Jon gave her a half-smile. "You're a Stark." He pointed out before his eyes saddened again. "I'm just a Snow."

Deandra wasn't impressed and Jon yelped as she delivered a swift blow to the back of his head. Sometimes she really wanted to knock some sense into the boy but she didn't want to hurt him too badly so little hits like that would have to suffice. "You're a bloody Stark in everything but name." She said sternly. "Who is your father?"

Jon stared up at her, his hand cradling his skull. "Lord Eddard Stark." He answered quietly.

"And who are your brothers?"

"Robb, Bran and Rickon Stark."

"And who are your sisters?"

"Sansa and Arya Stark."

"What does that make you, in blood if not anything else?"

"A Stark."

Deandra's harsh face faded away and she grinned widely. "Now we're getting somewhere!" She cheered and Jon blushed again as she slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him closer. "It doesn't matter what Lady Catelyn thinks, you're uncle Ned's son and she needs to accept that sooner or later."

"She's been kinder than most."

"She has." Deandra agreed because it was true and because Catelyn was not a bad woman by any means. "But she has no right to treat you with such hostility. I've already promised Bran and Arya to write but if you need me Jon you mustn't hesitate to send a raven."

Jon smiled properly this time. "I won't." He assured her. Ever since she had arrived in Winterfell, Deandra had become a close confidant of his and he almost viewed her as his protector both emotionally and physically — leading to him admiring her very much.

It had been a bit embarrassing to have a girl stand up for him at first but as she grew older, she grew even wilder and nobody wanted to go against the Wild Wolf that was Deandra Dayne. Jon suspected that even Lady Stark was a bit afraid of her ferocity and Lady Stark was a very capable woman.

"Good." Deandra seemed pleased with his simple response. She knew Jon would not break his word. "As it's my last morning in Winterfell how about you and I find that Greyjoy and then I'd be honoured if you were to break fast with me — how about it, snowflake?"

Jon attempted to scowl at the nickname but he couldn't help the smile that stuck to his face as they made their way to the Great Hall where Theon would most likely be with Robb, no doubt talking about girls in some crude manner.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Who Cares711: I'm glad you think so. I wanted to show Deandra's personal journey as well and how she grows so its good to know that you like it because it is a little boring compared to the events of the show.**_

 _ **StormNightSS: I can't wait either. I have so many scenarios in my head but sadly I still have a while to go before that happens.**_

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

As it turned out, Theon and Rob were in the Great Hall and they were, predictably, gossiping like girls about girls. Both of the boys had wandering eyes but it was Theon whose hands could never stay still and neither could his mouth — everything that had ever happened to the Kraken was relayed to Robb and Jon, and Deandra if she was unlucky. In fact, the three had also heard about nearly everything that hadn't happened to Theon, he was quite the cocky prick and loved to falsify stories to fit his arrogance.

At the moment Robb was giggling like Sansa might at one of Theon's latest anecdotes as the two huddled together in the practically empty hall. Robb was a handsome lad who had inherited his mother's colouring and Deandra just adored his cute auburn curls. His blue eyes were bright as he happily listened to his friend. "So then this red-head, Ros, bends over-"

"I hope you're not infecting the young Lord's mind, Theon." Deandra called, Jon quickly sitting beside his brother as she took a seat opposite. "Marriage is more important than such carnal pleasures which could easily besmirch one's honour."

The Kraken scowled at her for interrupting but Robb just laughed. "Since when were you so altruistic?"

Deandra gasped mockingly. "I'll have you know that I've always been concerned for others, and if you're going to be like that, since when did you learn words like altruistic?"

Robb just laughed again. "You didn't seem concerned for others when you punched Theon last week. Maester Luwin says if Rodrik hadn't pulled you away that you would have broken his nose."

Theon glowered angrily at the reminder as Jon smirked. The Greyjoy instinctively raised a hand to his still bruised face and resisted the urge to flinch as his fingers skimmed the sore flesh. "That wasn't funny."

"I thought it was." Deandra teased. "I just couldn't look at your ugly mug any longer. I think I made an improvement." Theon was a very proud boy of five and ten and she knew that his looks were quite important to him. He had recently discovered the pleasure a woman could bring and rather liked making trips to the brothel. Despite seeking out whores, Theon wasn't exactly horrifying to look at and, if she being honest, Deandra sometimes liked looking at him. In her humble opinion, Robb and Jon were both more handsome but with his cerulean eyes and muscular body, Theon was, according to her adolescent hormones, impossible to ignore.

"Anyway," Robb interjected before another fight could kick-off, "didn't you once tell me that marriage was a construct designed to turn women into objects and men into the rulers they want to be?"

"That sounds smart so I must have said it."

The three boys cracked smiles at her casual arrogance before Robb frowned. "I'm going to miss you."

Deandra barely resisted the urge to bash his head against Jon's. "Fucking hell." She groaned. "I'm only going to say this once more, and if any of you get all sad again I'm going to punch you in the balls." Beneath the table, the males crossed their legs. "I will not be disappearing. I'll send ravens and write whenever you want me to. I will be back before you know it."

"I won't miss you."

Deandra grinned. "Thank you, Theon." She turned to her cousins. "You should take a lesson from him. We all know he's going to miss me but he's not showing it. Look." She pointed at Theon's irritated glare without faltering. "He's crying on the inside, not the outside. Uncle Ned would be proud."

"I'll miss Caraxes but not you."

"You're pushing it now, Greyjoy. What did you do with Caraxes, by the way? You took him for a ride yesterday, I hope you let him rest - its a long way to Dorne."

Theon rolled his eyes. "You care more for that horse than you do for real people."

He wasn't wrong so Deandra didn't deny it. Caraxes was worth more than most people. People were cruel and mean, unlike animals. People had the power to be kind and change the world but they didn't and that always angered her.

"Dea!"

The four of them spun to see Sansa heading their way. Sansa was beautiful and, like Robb, she had gained her mother's red locks and azure irises. Much to Deandra's amusement, Sansa had also managed to inherit the Northern height. Although only ten summers old, it wouldn't be shocking if the girl grew taller than her brothers and she was already close to Jon's height. Speaking of Jon, Deandra narrowed her purple eyes as Sansa threw him a particularly dirty look that would make Catelyn impressed.

"I've made you something." The eldest daughter smiled sweetly up at her, a stark contrast to the expression reserved for her father's bastard. "I know that you'll be travelling for a while but I don't think you'll want to return to Starfall in breeches." Sansa wrinkled her nose at the mere thought and Deandra smirked. "So, I made you a dress." She held out a little parcel, complete with a bow, and Deandra's smirk melted into a smile as she drew the younger girl in for a hug.

"Thank you."

"I know its hot in the south so the material is much lighter, I hope you like it. The stitching is a bit wonky on the-"

"Sansa." Deandra cut across the rambling. "I'm sure its wonderful." Sansa looked as though she were ready to burst into tears and Deandra felt her stomach tug. The two were never the closest and Deandra couldn't help but feel a tad guilty about that. It wasn't Sansa's fault that Catelyn had drilled the importance of being ladylike into her from a young age.

"Its purple." Sansa said quietly. "The dress," she clarified, "its purple. I thought you'd like to go home in your house's colours."

Deandra's eyes widened in realisation at Sansa's words. "Starfall isn't my home, Winterfell is." She informed her cousin gently. "I may go by Dayne but I am a Stark as well." She brushed a red strand from the shorter girl's pretty face. "I'll be back soon enough and I'll bring you back a present, okay?" Sansa nodded meekly. "Now," Deandra's words were much cheerier, "I think it's time for food."

"You haven't eaten yet?" Sansa blinked in surprise. "You're due to leave soon."

"I got distracted." Deandra admitted, feeling oddly sheepish at Sansa's unimpressed gaze. She reminded her so much of Catelyn in that moment, it caught the Dornish girl off guard and so she did what any child would do - she blamed someone else. "It was Robb's fault."

Robb started as Sansa's eyes found him. "I didn't do anything!" Sansa just hummed and smiled once more at Deandra, and sent a small glare at Robb, before sweeping out of the hall.

"Someone's in trouble."

"Shut up, Jon."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the wait but thanks for all the follows and favourites! I just got my GCSE results back the other day so I thought I'd post a chapter because I'm happy with them. I got the highest marks in both English Literature and Language and, as you can tell, I love writing so that was good. Sorry that this chapter is a little short but thankfully, the good stuff starts soon.**

 _ **donutcomeforme: Thank you so much! The opening is the most important in getting people's interested so I'm glad to know that you think so.**_

 _ **Guest: Thank you, I hope you like this chapter**_

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

Standing at the gates of Winterfell, Deandra forcibly swallowed the lump that sneaked into her throat as she gazed nostalgically at the castle she called home. It wasn't as pretty as Starfall or as fascinating as the ruins of Harrenhall but it was still her favourite. With its high and mighty towers it was an impressive example of engineering, especially with the heated water that ran through the walls, but that was something most Southerner's would probably ignore. She imagined that they only see the colour of the grey stones against its dull grey backdrop and be instantly displeased.

Deandra remembered when she had first reached Winterfell. She had been weary and tired after a long and laborious journey and she had started shivering long before she had actually entered the North. Only nine, she had been quite spoiled by the Dornish climate and even the capital hadn't been as hot as Dorne. Now she wouldn't be shocked if she suffered from the blistering sun after she returned. Her skin was as pale as snow these days and she wondered whether or not she would burn.

She let her purple irises glance quickly to where her chambers would be waiting for her and longed to snuggle into her sheets. It wasn't that she was dreading the trip — her excitement was palpable over the last few days — but she would miss her family and the comfort of her home terribly. She was still only a child and this would be the first time she truly left home in nearly a decade.

Her uncle finally caught her attention as he stood before her, solemn and serious as per usual. His eyes were sadder than normal and his frown far more pronounced and Deandra felt stupidly smug at causing her stoic uncle to change his expression. That had been one of the many little games she liked to play after discovering how rare and short his laughs were.

"Stay safe." He ordered her warningly. It had taken some getting used to her uncle's accent. It was a striking change to the exotic and refined articulation down South. "And don't run off. I'm sending some of my best men but don't make their jobs any harder." Deandra didn't know if she should take that as a compliment or an insult but either way, she chose the former and grinned cheekily causing Ned's lips to almost curve into a ghost of a smile.

He had been firm in his decision for her to take some of his best fighters with her as a form of protection despite her objections. Jory, as captain of the guard, would be staying at Winterfell with his Lord but Ser Rodrik Cassel would accompany her instead. Rodrik was a kind man and a skilled warrior and was Jory's uncle and the Master of Arms at the castle. It was Rodrik who had taught Robb, Jon and even Theon and Deandra herself how to fight. All in all, she would be glad of his company at least.

"She'll be in good hands with us, My Lord." Ser Rodrik assured and Ned nodded in thanks.

"Don't forget about us when attending your parties and balls." Her uncle teased slightly and Deandra smiled at him for his effort.

"As I've told your children, I'll write — and besides, I never forget a thing."

"Then remember this," Ned was suddenly grave again and Deandre knew exactly what he was going to say but she let home finish his sentence, "Winter is Coming."

"I will."

The words of House Stark were open to interpretation but Deandra had always seen them as a balance of literal and figurative. After hearing them at least a hundred times, she had spent many hours pondering what they truly meant. A mix of Ann ominously warning and a full on threat, she had ultimately decided that it's true meaning would depend on its context. It could easily be a reference to an impending blizzard if discussing the weather or it could be a promise of death and misery when facing an enemy and that reason, Deandra greatly appreciated the words. She was rather fond of speaking with witty jibes and quick japes and had always believed she that words could be just as powerful as a man's muscles, or even an army.

House Dayne's words would always remain her favourite and her own personal mantra however. When things often seemed bleak or if she felt that she had, had enough, she would mutter to herself, "Stars Fall, We Rise". It was a vow of hope and a pledge of strength. It gave her the will to carry on whenever she felt sad or whenever people tried to stop her being the proud woman she was.

As she was pulled into a brief but caring hug from her uncle and seated atop her red stallion the words echoed through her skull. As she trotted away from her home and along the Kingsroad the words echoed through her skull. As her world was ripped apart again and again the words would echo throughout her skull. As she stood tall with a blade as pale as milkglass and faced the blue demons before her, the words would be a roar tearing through her throat. "STARS FALL, WE RISE!"


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, in typical me fashion I've been attempting to complete my summer assignments last minute. So far a I've only done about half of one of them because I gave up and decided to post this instead (you're very welcome). This chapter isn't my favourites but you should let earn more more about the main character so that some good. Enjoy and thanks to everyone who has been reading, following and favouriting and reviewing! xx**

 **CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

They had been riding for over a month and Deandra was sore. Her thighs were sore from riding, her arse was sore from sitting in her saddle, her arms were sore from griping the reins and her eyes were sore from a lack of sleep.

She was also sweating, and she was sweating quite badly. It had been a shock, the gradual increase of heat had been manageable but this was bordering on unbearable. By the time they had passed through King's Landing, Deandra and most of her entourage had shed their heavy furs as the sun got brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter.

Now that they were entering Dorne, the heat of the capital seemed trivial. The Stark men were wheezing and Deandra had never been more thankful for her southern descent. Even the well-travelled Rodrik was struggling in his thick armour as beads of perspiration soiled his white beard.

It felt as though she had overestimated the enjoyment of adventure, especially as most of it consisted of uncomfortable travelling over long and arduous distances and terrains. Not that she disliked riding Caraxes, or any other horse, and she also rather liked walking but not for leagues upon leagues upon bloody leagues. Despite the conditions, one thing Deandra didn't do was give up. She wasn't a quitter no matter how impatient or angry she often got and so she kept her complaints and choice words close to her chest and she refused to mope and she did not stop moving. Besides, if all things went to plan once she reached her childhood home then exploring demanding territory would be the least of her difficulties.

The journey hadn't been all bad in the end. She had visited new places she hadn't been able to last time and she had met new people, although a few were quite unsavoury. Though she didn't want to admit it, had it not been for her company then Deandra would probably have been raped and murdered along the road instead of being gifted with some of the most glorious views any man or woman could hope to see.

The population down south were incredibly spoiled, Deandra decided. They were spoiled with sights fit for the heavens, certainly compared to those in the North whose castles were built for practicality rather than grandeur. From the Red Keep to Horn Hill and to Highgarden, the south of westeros was truly blessed but no castle or sept or, indeed, anything that had been built could compete with the awe inspiring majesty of Starfall — at least in Deandra's humble opinion.

Situated in the Red Mountains, which were an impressive enough spectacle on their own, Starfall was said to have been raised by the first Dayne over ten thousand years ago on an island at the mouth of the Torrentine River after he had tracked a falling star there and found a stone of magical powers. This meant that all Dayne's were descendants of the First Men whose culture was far more prominent in the North while the Andals remained in the south.

Deandra could taste the salt in the hot air, the Summer Sea bright and blue and pure and she felt her lips curve. It was refreshing to be exposed to such colours, colours she had missed over the years. Her smile only widened at the utter amazement on the faces of her guard. Their eyes were comically large, their mouths hilariously agape and they were practically trembling — not that she blamed them. She almost felt like giggling herself, a giddy emotion that suprised her deep within her chest.

Impossibly tall and ivory towers shot into the clouds above, the purple of House Dayne serving to make the castle even more regal. It was like something from a fairytale, a pretty story that mother's sang to children or one she had recited for her youngest cousins.

Her breath caught in her lungs and she felt winded as the gates opened with a flourish and Deandra had just enough time to swallow awkwardly as she glimpsed Palestone Sword, the tower where her mother had committed suicide.

* * *

She had been greeted amicably, even the Stark men had been received politely. There was something different within the white walls and she liked it. Deandra recalled being a tad ostracised by children and adults alike, although no one had voiced their contempt and she was treated with courtesy that any one of noble birth would expect.

Isolation had plagued her then. Everyone had known the story of how Eddard Stark murdered Ser Authur Dayne, the kind and honourable Sword of the Morning. He had earned a semblance of respect by returning the knight's blade but that had been stripped away once Ashara took her own life.

Deandra remembered being angry, no, she remembered being _hurt_ , so, so, _hurt_ that she had meant so little to her mother, the one person who was supposed to love her unconditionally and above everything else. There was a time when she hated and utterly abhored the woman who had birthed her. The Lords and Ladies spoke so highly of Ashara. Ashara was kind, Ashara was beautiful, Ashara was brave. Deandra had scoffed every time she heard the last one. No brave person would ever leave their child or this world behind, that was the path of a selfish coward. Those were the words that had tumbled out of her mouth one evening at dinner.

She had been having a bad day and she had snapped. Having to hear how wonderful her mother and to hear her, the woman she would never meet, be praised had finally taken its toll. Having to endure segregation had finally taken its toll. Deandra had been crying as she screamed (she was never really in control of her anger, especially then) and she cried and screamed more when they had sent her away to Winterfell but no one listened. No one had ever listened to her then.

Things seemed better now. She knew that Edric Dayne was the Lord and King of the Torrentine these days. It took little effort to remember him. Edric was her younger cousin, he would be around Robb and Jon's age if she was correct. He had always been a sweet boy, small and slim for his age. In some ways, she supposed he and Bran were fairly similar. Although Edric lacked a certain thirst for adventure; he was too shy and too skinny. Physicality aside, Edric was smart for his age, even then, and Starfall appeared to be prospering more than ever under his rule.

Her thoughts would soon be confirmed as she prepared for another dinner with her family. Handmaidens had made themsleves busy with her inky locks, moulding the strands into a rather elegant and flamboyant style, complete with an abundance of braids and curls. It was all quite silly but it felt nice for her hair to be out of her face.

Before the servant girls could help her dress, Deandra happily kicked them out and now stared intently at the parcel Sansa had thrust into her hands. _Its purple_ , the redhead had told her.

Purple was a gorgeous colour. It was rich and powerful and commanded attention, and it matched her eyes, but still she hesitated when opening the paper. She was proud of her heritage, once she got over her fury and naivety, and she did call herself Deandra Dayne after all, yet she was stupidly nervous. Her worry stemmed from a deep seated issue that had blossomed at a young age, she knew this. She called herself a Dayne up North and had been called one down south but she was made to feel inadequate.

It was a childish insecurity caused by her Lord Uncle. Perhaps it was wrong to feel that way about family but she was relieved when she had learned of his death. He had enjoyed belittling her and dropping in Ashara's name a bit too much for her liking and it had been his choice to send her away. He had grabbed her limbs with a bruising force as she wailed and locked her in her room like a pathetic princess from a song. She hadn't been allowed out until her departure and she had almost wrecked her vocal chords and her nails had been scratched away from clawing at the door.

Deandra grit her teeth at the memory and reached for the package. She was a Dayne and she would bloody well prove it to anyone that dared to so much as think otherwise.


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing...**

 **I AM SO SORRY!**

 **But seriously, I am sorry. I've had a rough few months as I was in hospital with appendicitis and then peritonitis and my muse decided it wanted to play hide and seek. Not everything was bad, however; way back in November I went to see a production of Measure For Measure directed by Josie Rourke (director of Mary Queen of Scots) starring Hayley Atwell (Peggy Carter!) and Jack Lowden (Morrissey, England is Mine / Collins, Dunkirk / Lord Darnley, Mary Queen of Scots / and the love of my life - literally! *sigh*) and my birthday was fun but enough about me...**

 ** _BecauseYourWorthIt: Thank you! It's nice to hear that you like it so much and that it's well written because I do put a lot of effort in and I totally agree that's Tormund doesn't get enough recognition. He's such a great character._**

 ** _PsychoMutt: Although its taken some time, here's that update and I'm gld you like it xx_**

 ** _em3kitty: Thank you so much! Its always so nice to hear that someone appreciates and likes my work so don't worry about repeating yourself - in fact, I encourage it! I'm also glad you like Deandra's height. To be honest, it came as a plot device in retrospect as I wasn't sure who I wanted Deandra to end up with when I first came up with the idea. I'm not particularly tall but one of my best friends is and we were discussing how female charcters, not just in fanfiction but also in fully fledged novels, tend to be short and when they can be considered tall they are still often shorter than their male counterparts so she was Deandra's inspiration._**

 ** _Cinderella56: Sorry about the wait!_**

 ** _forgets-a-lot: Never fear, I have not abandoned this story and I will not in the future. My muse decided to go on a walkabout but I'm back and I'm glad you like it and I agree that Tormund needs smlome more love and appreciation xx_**

 ** _Padfootette: Thank you and I'm sorry for the wait!_**

 ** _Emily01111: Sorry you had to wait but I hope you enjoy!_**

 ** _And thank you to everyone who favourited and followed - thos little notifications got me through life in all honesty xx_**

 **Also readers, I have a question; who do you think Azor Ahai will be? Personally I have no idea who the show will go with but I hope that it's Jaime. Let me know what you guys think about the upcoming season x**

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

* * *

His cousin was late and Edric was very uncomfortable. He wasn't the most confident of people, this he knew, but he did not like feeling awkward in front of his family.

Allyria, his aunt, was unimpressed - if her narrowed gaze and pinched scowl was anything to go by. She had never liked Deandra, not that she was too much older than the girl herself, and Edric had the sneaking suspicion that she wasn't all too fond of him either.

His mother was far from happy as well but she hid it far better. She had a polite and courteous smile on her face, something that was usually plastered on to cover her annoyance and was normally reserved for him. He knew that she loved him, she had said so enough times, yet his tendency to seek out a book rather than a sword often irritated her. The daughter of the late Lord Blackmont, she had wanted her son to be as fierce and heroic as her father and instead she had birthed someone who was "as shy as a blushing maiden" - her words, not his.

Edric had thought that to be a bit too harsh. He was a tad shy, he wouldn't deny that, but after the death of his own father he had risen to his titles and Starfall had even improved under his rule. Nobody commented on that, not once. Edric sometimes wished he wasn't born to a Lord, things would have been so much easier. When he was younger, he had dreamed of travelling to Oldtown and becoming a maester. He could remember his father laughing scornfully and loudly at that.

Sitting opposite him was Prince Doran and Edric became extra nervous whenever his eyes would roam too close. He was a nice person, at least he appeared to be, with sharp eyes that caught the slightest movement. The oldest Martell wasn't a fighter and that reassured Edric somewhat. It proved that you didn't have to wield a weapon to be a leader. "Knowledge is power" after all - and those were Edric's words.

Also seated the table were the Dayne's of High Hermitage and they made him more awkward than the Prince. Lord Aren and his wife seemed more suited to family name than Edric had ever felt. Tall, handsome and muscular, Aren was a renowned warrior and Edric's mother was taken with him more than she ought to be. She had even suggested rewarding the man with Dawn, the ancestral sword of their house. Edric had disagreed but that hadn't stopped her from praising Aren at every possible opportunity.

The other tables in the massive hall were all full with Lords and Ladies from all over Dorne; lesser members of House Martell and Dayne were scattered about as well as representatives from House Blackmont, his uncle at the head, House Uller, House Allyrion, House Manwoody and countless more. The one thing that they had in common was the uneasy quietness they all shared.

The musicians that had been payed to perform were equally as silent, awaiting the guest of honour to arrive, and people had already begun eating but no one called them out.

Expectant glances were thrown towards the entrance almost continuously and Edric admitted that a lot of them were from him. At first he had been afraid that his cousin's tardiness would upset the Prince but he didn't seem particularly bothered, happily sipping his wine and tasting his food. Now he was more worried about his aunt and mother.

His worry only increased when the doors finally opened. Everyone's eyes swivelled almost comically at the entering figure and all of those eyes widened. Deandra wasn't nine years old any more and the Lords were practically drooling. Edric winced as Allyria's narrowed gaze became an all out glare and he winced again at his mother's indignant expression at Aren's wandering stare. He then blinked as Aren's wife matched her husband's unabashed lust for his beautiful cousin.

Deandra was tall, perhaps the tallest woman he had met in his life so far, with pale skin complimented by her inky locks. She reminded him of a prettier, less snobbish Allyria in a way, her lips curled into a smile rather than a sneer. Her dress clung to her skin, purple silk moulding to her every orifice with golden embroidery drawing attention to her bountiful bust and silver sleeves running along her long arms. Whoever had made the gown was a talented seamstress and Edric was surprised by how nice the mix of gold, grey and purple was.

She joined their table with a low and practiced curtsy to Doran who bowed his head in acknowledgment before kissing her hand. Edric could see Aren leering at her bosom as her knees dipped and resisted the urge to scowl before waving away his cousin's attempts to greet him similarly. "We're family." He told her firmly, the most collected he had felt all night, even as Allyria's glare deepened.

Deandra smiled widely at him and he realised that her eyes weren't the navy colour that he shared with his living aunt but a rare and dark mauve. "I apologise for the delay." She said cheerily and Edric couldn't hear an ounce of sincerity in her words. Her accent was also different from what he remembered and he could make out a Northern lilt to her sentence.

"No you're not." Allyria snapped as the music started in the background. "You're mocking us."

Edric had hoped that she would keep her opinion she to herself for the evening, or at least hold on until Prince Doran was no longer in their presence. Evidently, he was sorely mistaken.

"Me?" Deandra gasped, her offence horribly exaggerated. "Mock my dear aunt? I would never."

She would and everyone at the table knew it. In any other situation, Edric would have grinned but he didn't dare, despite the shade of red taking over Allyria's face. "Enough." He intervened.

His aunt didn't listen. "You were never one of us, always hiding yourself away, and now you've been living with those _Starks_." Allyria hissed.

"Stop it." Edric said louder. She was embarrassing him in front of his Liege Lord. "Deandra is family," he repeated, "and there will be no insults at my table." He resisted the urge to recoil as all eyes focused on him and stood his ground a little unwillingly.

Allyria scoffed but didn't reply as silence descended once more. Doran took this as his cue to speak. "How is Winterfell treating you, my Lady?"

Deandra's smile was still in place and it had yet to falter. "It was rather cold at first but one can learn to adapt, although I am still fascinated with the snow. I've been treated well if that's what you're asking, my uncle is a good man and my aunt is a good woman. I couldn't ask for a better family."

"I've heard many stories about Lord Eddard and his kindness."

"The story I've often heard is how he murdered Arthur." It was Allyria again and Edric didn't have the chance to interject this time as Deandra beat him to the mark.

"I've also heard that story." If Allyria hissed her words then Deandra growled them. The image in his mind was of a wolf, a wild wolf judging by the rapid transition of her emotions. "But then I've also heard how Arthur was there when my father was murdered and didn't lift a finger."

"Talking about the past will not change it." Doran commented calmly, and Edric could see why he ruled Dorne. He had a tone full of authority, he oozed it, and while he was somewhat intimidating, he was approachable. "What's done cannot be undone, we can only move forward. Squabbling amongst yourselves is unwise and unnecessary. You are aunt and niece, you should care for one another."

Allyria muttered a quick apology that was barely heard by the majority of the table but she did not stop glowering. Edric's mother decided it was her turn to talk. "Have you been betrothed yet?" She asked politely but everyone could see her mind already plotting.

Edric caught Deandra's look of disgust at the mere thought of marriage and found himself agreeing with her. "Not yet, my Lady."

The Lady of Starfall hummed critically. "You're of age, are you not? And you have bled?"

"Yes, but I believe that my marriage is in the hands of my uncle and has been since I arrived in the North." Deandra retorted, hoping to subdue any notion of a union brewing. "And what of Allyria's betrothal? How is that going?"

"Its not." Allyria said tersely. "It has been revoked."

"Oh. Well, Beric Dondarrion could do better I suppose."

Was it his imagination or did Edric spot a smirk on Doran's lips in spite of his sage and wise advice? Either way, the conversation had taken a turn for the worst again and Aren chose this moment to jump in, thankfully before Allyria could reply to the insult. "Surely countless Northern Lords have asked for your hand?"

Deandra pursed her lips at him, entirely unimpressed. "I'm sure they have, but I'm not interested in marrying, I doubt I'l ever be."

"Marriage is important." Lady Dayne laughed, not taking her seriously or, at least, ignoring her opinion.

"It is." Doran agreed. "But only when it is for love. My sister, Elia, married the Crown Prince. He was kind and handsome but they did not love each other and she was not as happy as she could have been and then Rhaegar left her for another woman. I regret that she did such a thing when love could have been waiting for her. My younger brother, Oberyn, says much the same as you Lady Stark, I think you two would get along very well."

Deandra grinned, if the mention of her aunt unsettled her she didn't show it. "Perhaps one day I will meet him."

Doran easily returned her smile. "The Sunspear would suit you wonderfully, and who knows, maybe you could convince my brother that marriage isn't a terrible thing after all."

"And he may convince me." She purred.

Allyria's cutlery screeched and whimpered as she dug the silver deep into her delicate plate. It had been Allyria's dream to marry a Prince and so far she had only managed to avert Doran's attention to her niece. "I doubt you'd make a good Princess." She said as nonchalantly as she could. "You never did like people."

"I still don't, especially entitled ones." The little dig, once again, caused Allyria to grit her teeth but the conversation shifted, once again. "Tell me, cousin," Edric started as the attention poured onto him, "do you still read?"

Edric smiled anxiously. "Yes, my Lady."

"Call me Deandra." Said woman beamed proudly. "Did you recieve the book I sent you? It must have been five years since then."

"A History of Aegon the Conqueror and His Conquest of Westeros." Edric recieted instantly. "It's my favourite." He admitted, feeling slightly bashful. "I must have read it about a thousand times."

"As have I." Deandra chuckled. "It was my favourite too. I spent a bit too much time I need the library while I was here, it wasn't until I reached Winterfell that my head truly left a book."

"I'm told I spend too much time there as well." Deandra was the first member of his family whom Edric felt at all akin too and he couldn't help but grin. "I've updated it, quite recently. I could show you." He offered eagerly before hesitating at his enthusiasm. Such a thing wasn't proper. "If you would like me too, that is."

Deandra's eyes were soft and glowing like stars. "I would love to."

Edric smiled, the first genuine smile that elected to adorn his lips in quite a while and he was delighted to see the same honest beam on his cousin's simply charming face.


End file.
